Avalon: A Secret Billionaire Romance

by Skye Darrel

  “Take them off.”

  I can hear her breaths. Her face is bright red, but she doesn’t say no. Bit by bit, Cheryl slides them to her ankles and balls them in a fist.

  “Put them in the glovebox,” I say.

  She obeys again, glaring at me. I grit my teeth and look at her pink pussy, glistening with her cream. I rub two fingers up her slit and roll them over her clit. Then I taste my fingers. Cheryl lets out a moan.

  “Keep your legs apart until we get to the restaurant,” I say. “I want to smell you.”

  She folds her arms and turns away from me, but she keeps her thighs open. I get back on the highway and tap a few buttons on my door console. One tap turns on the seat warmers. The night is chilly, and Cheryl’s sitting there on her bare ass. Another tap turns on the vibrating massage rollers in the seat back, and I push the setting to max. She squeals and clutches my knee.

  “Oh God.”

  “Don’t close your thighs.”

  The smell of her virgin pussy grows thicker as my cock throbs harder. She keeps her hand on my knee and moans. Forty minutes later, we reach the restaurant. Cheryl is flushed all over and rubbing against her seat, chewing her lip with eyes shut until I turn the engine off.

  “We’re here.”

  She takes a deep breath, still squirming. I get out and open the passenger side, helping her stand. I pull her skirt down, wipe the damp hair out of her eyes, and tip her chin up. “Had a good ride?”

  She swallows. “You’re out of control.”

  “Did you cum?”

  She shoves my hand away. I grab her by the wrists and gently pin her against the car, rubbing my hard cock on her stomach, my mouth against her throat. Then I pull back and growl. “I asked you a question.”

  “No, Sawyer. I didn’t have an orgasm.”

  “You will. Later.”

  “Get off me.”

  I step back.

  She looks at the bright sign of Le Miroir. “That’s the place?”

  “Yeah. Two Michelin stars.”

  “Looks classy,” she says.

  “It is classy.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Before I can reply she’s walking toward the front doors, and I follow her inside, hiding my grin.

  The night’s still early at Le Miroir. Only a few tables are filled, and soft conversations drone in the background. There are private booths in the back, but those need reservations. I’ve been here once before with my business partner.

  The hostess smiles at my sharp casual suit. Then she looks at Cheryl’s tank top and sneakers, and her whole expression changes.

  “We have a dress code,” the hostess says.

  “Can you make an exception?”

  “I apologize, sir, but no. Our guests expect a certain atmosphere when they dine at Le Miroir. Absolutely no sneakers.”

  Cheryl shrugs and stands a little closer to me. She’s getting nervous. I can tell fine dining isn’t her comfort zone, but I’ll make it comfortable.

  “I want to speak with the manager,” I say.

  When the manager comes out, I take him out of Cheryl’s earshot and arrange to buy up every table for the night. The manager insists that reservations have already been made. I tell him to call his high society customers and say that he’s canceling tonight's reservations. In fact, he's going to visit the tables already occupied and politely inform the guests that dinner hours will be ending early. That way, none of the crème de la crème will be offended by a girl wearing sneakers.

  “That is impossible, sir,” the manager insists.

  The impossible becomes possible with a five million donation to Le Miroir on my executive debit card. In my experience, you can buy just about anything, up to and including class. Whoever said money can’t buy class didn’t use enough money. In my experience, there’s only one thing money can’t buy.

  The manager becomes even more polite when my payment goes through.

  Thirty minutes later, Cheryl and I are sitting alone at a table draped in white cloth. Silver gleams beside our plates. Le Miroir belongs to her tonight.

  “What did you say to him?” she asks.

  “I told him you’re starving.”

  “Liar.”

  “Try the oysters. They’re fresh.”

  “You know, for a guy who’s loaded you own a pretty crappy building.”

  “I didn’t build the Avalon. I bought it.”

  “Why? Why do you live there? I bet you could afford a mansion somewhere if you can afford whatever you just did.”

  I steeple my hands over the table and lean forward. “You’re one of a kind, Cheryl.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you’re the first person I’ve met who cares about my whys.”

  She flicks her lashes. “Why do you keep changing the subject?”

  “Order something.”

  After our appetizers arrive, I watch her eat for a while. A soft warmth spreads in my chest that I’ve never felt before, even as my cock throbs and throbs.

  “What?” she says.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you going to stare all night?” When I don’t answer, she puts her fork down and stares back. We’re in a contest.

  A smirk spreads across my mouth. “Okay. I’ll eat.”

  "Thank you," she huffs. "I want to see if you can do something like a normal human being without getting all pervy."

  “Pervy will come later.”

  Cheryl blushes, but she is hungry, and the food is exceptionally good. We eat in silence.

  Chapter Five

  CHERYL

  I don’t understand Sawyer, but he has my attention. It’s like all of a sudden I’m the only thing that matters in his life. Plus, no one’s emptied a restaurant for me before. Now he’s driving me back and hasn’t done anything pervy for an hour. I can’t decide if that’s an improvement.

  “Where did you interview at today?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your job interview.”

  “An accountant’s office. I applied for a secretary position. He said he’d call back.”

  “You think he won’t?”

  “I know he won’t. It’s not my first interview.” It’s my second, but I have a feel for people.

  “Why not?”

  “No office experience.” I sigh. “It was a long shot anyway.”

  “You moved here on a long shot?”

  I pause, not sure where to start. I didn’t move here. I escaped here from Bo Klein and my old life, using up all my savings too.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say finally. “I’ll find something. I’ve been working since I was fourteen. Not about to stop now.”

  Sawyer grunts. “You don’t need to work.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’ll take care of you,” Sawyer says, like it’s the most normal thing to say in the world. I'm reminded of how much older he is. Twenty-eight seems pretty far from my eighteen, and it's not just his age. It's his whole bearing. During dessert, he sat there in silence, and his eyes went somewhere else. Brooding or thinking, I wasn’t sure. But it made him look older.

  We turn onto the backstreet entrance into Avalon Apartments. There’s that billboard again, brightly lit like a Christmas tree. “You really should thank—” I squint “—BrightStar Energy Solutions for putting their commercial here. No one would find Avalon without that sign.”

  The small sign for Avalon is unlit.

  Sawyer grunts as he turns into the parking lot and parks behind the building. Avalon Apartments looks even gloomier at night. He opens the glovebox and digs out the panties I took off earlier.

  “Do you want these back?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “I’ll return them on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Stay with me for the next three days.”

  “You’re holding my underwear hostage?”

  Sawyer makes a half-smile, half-snarl. I pluck my panties away,
and he grabs my wrist. He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “Three days, Cheryl. Let me give you three days.”

  I look into his handsome face and feel my stomach melting. “Three days of what?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “You don’t know what I want.” I try to tell myself I don’t like him one more time, but that would be a lie. “You barely know me.”

  “I know you,” he says. And for an instant his voice falters. “I can’t explain the feeling.”

  “Wow. A man who admits he has feelings. You’re ahead of the curve.”

  Sawyer’s smile becomes less of a snarl and more of a smile. We stare at each before his eyes darken. “Stay with me.”

  Not for the first time in my life, someone promises me the world. Promises make me nervous in general because so many have been broken. But I feel tired, and the whirlwind of the past few days are catching up with me. My whole life has felt like a struggle, starting with that day seventeen years ago when social services put me in foster care. I don't even know the names of my birth parents. I don't want to know.

  Sawyer strokes my cheek. "I need you, Cheryl."

  Something in his voice breaks my resistance. “Fine. Three days, Mr. Landlord.”

  “Good girl.”

  Every time he calls me that, I feel my tummy clench. “Now what?”

  Sawyer gets out of the car and opens my door. He scoops me into his arms and carries me across the parking lot to the staircase that leads to the second-level walkway. His muscles bulge against my body. And when we get to his door, he unlocks it without setting me down.

  A light turns on automatically when we step inside.

  I gasp. Sawyer’s unit—if it’s even part of the original building—is pristine. The furniture looks sleek and polished, and the carpet is lush. The whole place reminds me of a modern art showcase.

  Except for the punching bag hanging in the living room corner from a metal chain. There's a set of padded gloves on the coffee table. A treadmill takes up another corner, and heavy dumbbells line the walls. That explains the muscles, I guess.

  Sawyer carries me to a bedroom twice the size of my own. He lays me on the bed and unclasps my skirt. I scrabble back on my elbows, nothing covering me but my flimsy tank top. He pulls my top up, fumbles for a second with my bra, and I’m about to explain that it opens at the front when he tears the whole thing off. I yelp, torn between panic and desire.

  Bending forward, he grabs my ankles and leans down to kiss my knee. Then he drags his tongue along my inner thigh all the way to my pussy, kissing my clit before he leans back. Sawyer towers over me as he sheds his suit jacket and opens his shirt.

  Oh my God.

  Muscles on muscles, ridged and packed and gorgeous. Even his ribs look stitched and chiseled. With clothes on, he seems almost slender, but now I know why he's so strong. He slips out of his pants, and his boxer briefs are stretched over a huge shape.

  I hold my breath. I should be thinking about condoms and safety. But every shred of reason leaves me and I'm writhing for more. My pussy clenches.

  Sawyer lowers his briefs. A massive cock juts out thick and veined, taking my breath away. I’ve never been intimate with anyone—not counting last night—and seeing Sawyer’s body bared makes mine sing. He strokes himself like he’s in pain and his eyes glimmer with a feral light.

  “You still have a cherry. I touched it last night.”

  “S-So?”

  “I’m taking it,” he says.

  My mouth goes dry. I thought he wanted to play around like we did yesterday. Like we did in the car. Not actual sex. Then again, after all he’s done why should I be surprised?

  I guess I’m surprised anyone would want me so badly. Never mind a man like Sawyer Ambrose.

  Maybe I’m being too generous with him. So what he’s tall and hot and can empty a restaurant on a whim? Empty it all for me. He owns one crappy apartment building and does who knows what else? I hate landlords.

  Then my eyes fall to his hard cock, and I forget everything I hate.

  Sawyer climbs up my body hand over hand, that thing between his legs swaying back and forth. It looks so heavy and thick.

  My eyes can’t decide between the rugged shape of his body or the beautiful face edging ever closer, his sharp nose scrunched up like a predator on the prowl, that strong jaw dark with scruffy stubble. I’m liquid inside. I’m dying of heat, the pulses between my thighs unbearable. His cock drips a clear strand of something that must be cum and his balls look swollen.

  Sawyer touches my neck, and I suck in a breath.

  “Please,” I gasp.

  His fingers brush down my throat, lightly playing over my skin. “Please what, angel?”

  I don’t even know. I can’t speak. I’m trembling, my skin on fire. I’ve never felt more vulnerable and more alive. I spread my legs as my hands twist into the sheets, and Sawyer’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around my neck. “Please what,” he whispers.

  “Let me feel like last night,” I say.

  He runs his hand down the swell of my hips to the moisture between my thighs. Sawyer cups my pussy with his palm, rubbing against my tender clit, and his hot breaths pour on my chest. “You’re my princess tonight, Cheryl. I’ll make you feel everything. Look at me.”

  I turn my head from side to side, moaning at the pleasure teasing through my body, an aching itch building between my folds below.

  “Look at me,” he demands, rubbing my nipple between two fingers. It’s the sweetest agony. Sawyer’s other hand digs under my rear to squeeze my rump. “Show me those beautiful eyes.”

  I look up and shudder at his ferocious stare.

  Below my waist, I feel the heat from his cock even through my own arousal. The massive tip of his maleness slides to my entrance, rubbing up and down my wet folds. My legs clamp to his hips, and I say in a choked voice, “Yes, Daddy.”

  I slap my hand over my mouth.

  Sawyer mutters under his breath, surprised by that word. Then he smirks. “Daddy?”

  “Um—yeah.”

  The word just slipped out. He's so big hovering over me, and he makes me feel protected and loved. I don’t know why I called him that. Maybe because I never had a real father. I want a man to make me feel safe, and he did call me his little girl.

  “I didn’t mean to call you that,” I say.

  Sawyer puts his finger on my lips. “You don’t need to explain. Call me whatever you want.” He kisses my throat. “Whatever makes your little pussy wet.” He squeezes me down there. “You’re my princess.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  The smirk dies from his lips. He grabs my hips with one hand and squeezes my breast with the other. The breath catches in my throat as his cock pushes in, splitting my pussy, and I feel a sharp pinch when he rips through my virginity.

  Sawyer stops to kiss me, sucking on my lower lip as his fingers below rubs circles around my clit. “You hurting?”

  “Don’t stop,” I breathe.

  “Good girl. I want you to take all of me. I want to feel your tight little hole squeezing my cock.”

  All of him? I look down at his length only halfway into my body. “You won’t fit,” I say. “You won’t . . . ”

  He turns my words to moans with his fingers rolling over my clit. And he’s pushing his cock deeper as I clench. My walls stretch around his thickness, waves of pleasure licking through my belly, and my breathing quickens. With a grunt, Sawyer thrusts into me fully, and I feel the tickle of his pubic hair on my most sensitive place. A trickling sensation builds in my pussy.

  Sawyer groans, the muscles of his chest popping out. “I want to cum inside you, Princess. I want you to be mine forever.”

  Forever is three days, I tell myself. No more, no less. I can’t let him get me pregnant.

  Oh, but he feels so good, his thick cock rubbing on my slick walls, setting off sparks deep in my body, making me feel things I didn’t think possible.

  Th
ree days. Forever. I let myself believe that nothing exists but us. I let myself believe that forever is real.

  “Okay,” I say.

  Sawyer plants his hands down, the muscles of his arms taut. He thrusts, harder and faster, his massive cock squelching in and out of my pussy. He pumps into me, his balls slapping on my lower folds. I'm being pushed against the pillows by the force of his body, and with every thrust, I float a little higher, the coil inside me tightening more.

  He jiggles my clit with his thumb. “Cum for me,” he grits out. “Cum your princess pussy on my cock.”

  I’m thrashing, my thighs squeezing his hips.

  Then he drags the head of his cock under my front wall, touching a spot that makes me squeal and arch off the bed. He pins me back down and thrusts harder.

  “Sawyer!” I scream. My walls ripple around his cock as pleasure drowns my senses. I can scarcely breathe.

  He shuts his eyes, and I feel him shudder in my body. A blast of heat hits my walls as Sawyer lets out a long groan. “Baby girl, fuck.”

  I slump back, holding his sides as Sawyer slides out. I look down to his cock still erect, filmy with our mingled juices and my virginity. Another drop of thick cum drips out of his tip to land on my drenched folds. I think a guy’s supposed to go soft after, but Sawyer’s thing just hangs there like he wants more.

  “You’re mine,” he says, massaging my breasts, his voice deep and seductive. “Mine.”

  I whimper. I can’t think of anything else to say. Tears roll down my cheeks.

  Sawyer kisses my shoulder, still rubbing my nipple, and his other hand combs through my damp hair. He rolls me on my side and holds me from behind, his cock tucked between my thighs. Then he sweeps my hair aside to expose my neck, and he licks and kisses, all the while slowly rubbing my sensitive clit.

  “Sleep in my bed,” he says.

  “Okay.”

  Time passes, and his cock gets harder between my thighs. I reach down, thinking to pleasure him somehow, but he pulls my hand away. “No, Princess. You don’t need to do anything. Tonight is all about you.”

  I bite my lip as heat flashes in my face. “How are you going to sleep like that?”

  “I’ll have to cum again,” he growls.